Broken Beyond Repair
by Miss Bloodrose
Summary: Matthew Williams is a third year in high school, and life couldn't be worse. Bullies are crawling around the school,he is always constantly out shined by his brother, and uses cutting as his escape. But when one of his supposed enemies isn't in fact an enemy at all, how can Matthew cope? And how can he possibly deal with it all? Warnings inside, Franada, a bit of UsUk.
1. Cutting dims the pain

**Author's Note:** Hey, so this idea struck me in third period and I just had to write it out. I plan to make this short, 3-5 chapters, but really long chapters. I would tell you the pairings but that would ruin a lot of the plot so I shall just say I promise you won't regret reading this. I hope I can update fast with this one, but I also have to do two others, (( I'm thinking about not finishing If Opposites were to attract, sorry, it just isn't enjoyable for me… lemme know if I should keep going with it…)) but yeah….

**Warnings:** Language, violence, bad thoughts, I would tell you another but again, that would ruin the plot.  
ENJOY~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Broken Beyond Repair**

**Chapter 1**

The silver blade slid through the delicate skin of Matthew's wrist. He bit his lip, watching as the blood pooled to the surface, trailing down to the underside of his arm and dripping to the towel he had placed on the sink. He took a shaky breath, positioned the blade, and slid it through his skin once again. He hardly even winced, even when he dug it in deeper than he usually did. The bite of pain had turned to nothing more than a nip of slight discomfort. The room finally began to spin and he set the blade down, looking at the new wounds, dripping with blood. He could also see the faint outlines of old scars from at least two years ago. _I'm so pathetic._ He thought, _Using cutting as an escape, but oh well, if I do die it's not like anyone will miss me._ He turned the sink on and washed away the blood from his arm, cleaning it and wrapping the bandages around his frail and thin arm.

He cleaned the blood off the blades and threw the towel away, there was no way he could get all of that blood out without anyone seeing, it was much easier to throw it away and just leave some money for his parents to buy a new one. He pulled his red hoodie sleeve up, covering the bandages completely.

He walked out of the small bathroom and down the long hallway, finally arriving in his little room. He sat down on his bed, the old springs groaning under his light weight. He crawled further onto the bed, pulling the covers over himself, letting the fluffy duvet engulf his skinny frame completely. He let out a long sigh, tomorrow was school, yet another chance to get bullied and tormented.It was alright though, he forgave the bullies, every day no matter how much they may have hurt him, he simply didn't have the fight in him to do anything but watch them walk away and think, 'I forgive you.'

"Mattie, I'm home!" Alfred burst in through his door, that wild and happy glint still hanging in his eyes, like they always did.

"Hello Alfred." Matthew said in his usual, whispery voice. Alfred looked down at his brother, realizing he was still in his bed.

"Mattie, are you feeling alright? It's like, 4 in the afternoon; you're never in bed past 8." The honey blond said, walking over to his brother's bedside and laying a hand on his shoulder gently. Matthew flinched on reflex, and then slowly looked up at his brother. Sometimes it was hard to like him, he was so fucking perfect. The girls LOVED him, he loved the girls, he was a talented football player, his smile made every girl melt, and he WASN'T GAY, unlike Matthew.

"Oh yes, I'm quite alright, I just felt a bit lightheaded. Nothing to worry about." Matthew replied, sitting up slowly and looking up at his brother through his violet eyes.

"Alright then! Hey, I was wondering if you are still coming to my football game tomorrow?" Alfred asked hopefully. The Canadian sighed.

"Of course Alfred, I wouldn't miss it for the world." He replied, looking up into his brothers sapphire eyes. He hadn't missed one of his brother's games for two years, why start now?

"Awesome, thanks!" The boy replied, Matthew just nodded, looking away from his brother's eyes. That was another thing he envied, his brothers sapphire eyes. They always shine brightly, taking everyone's breath away; they held all of his emotions and concerns. _I on the other hand have the dullest, most lifeless eyes out of everyone that I know._ His brother waved and happily bounced out of the room, probably going to talk to some girl over the phone.

Matthew lay back down, letting his head mold into the soft and comforting pillow, really comforting pillow. _Is my pillow really this soft?_ Matthew couldn't remember anything this amazing.

"Who're you?" A voice asked, Matthew bolted upright, looking behind him.

"Kumajiro, you scared me to death!" Matthew scolded, seeing his miniature polar bear he had saved from the north pole when he was little. He still remembered finding the thing, laying curled up in the snow, half frozen to death. He had insisted they take it all the way home, back to Canada so he could keep it. Well it seemed that the weather had stunted his growth and he had remained small.

"No, I'm pretty sure Kumajiro is my name. I was asking yours." The polar bear said. Matthew sighed, his best friend didn't even remember him, even after all this time.

"Kuma, it's me, Matthew, your OWNER." The Canadian stretched the last word. Kumajiro looked at him for a moment before shrugging and laying back again. "Kuma, get off my pillow." Matthew instructed, yanking it out from underneath the bear and laying it next to him. Kuma just huffed in annoyance, scooting over slightly.

For a while, the room was silent. Matthew traced patterns in his comforter, unable to find sleep. Finally, he spoke up.

"Hey Kumajiro?" He said, looking over at the bear. It looked over at him.

"Hmm?"

"A-Am I that…. Forgettable?" Matthew asked, his eyes slightly wide in question.

"Yep, pretty much. My brain just goes blank whenever I see you, it's like you're a completely new person! But then you tell me your name and I go, 'Oh yeah, I do know him!' It's kinda weird…" The bear answered. Matthew frowned at the answer. _Wow, that forgettable huh? What a useless piece of shit I am…_ Kuma looked away, noticing he had managed to upset the boy.

"Well… I think I'm going to bed now." Matthew announced silently. Kuma looked over at him.

"Without dinner?"

"Not hungry…" He mumbled.

"This is the fourth night in a row you haven't been hungry…"

"…" Matthew answered the bear with silence, closing his eyes and letting his shoulder length pale blond hair fall into his closed eyes.

Somehow he finally managed to drift into an uneasy sleep, filled with the words he was labeled with every day.

_Fag._

_Fucking queer._

_Cock sucker. _

They never failed to haunt him, every night, in every dream. Sometimes he would be places, maybe school, a field full of the most beautiful flowers he had ever seen, a beach, and sometimes even surrounded in nothing but the pitch blackness of the night and little gleaming stars hanging in the nights sky. The words always made the scenery bland, made the bright flowers die, the little twinkling stars fade, just like the words made him die, made his light go out.

Tonight he was on a beach where the water was clear and pristine. Where the palm trees and their perfect leaves hung over the water and some of the bigger leaves made small ripples in the water. The sun shimmered on the horizon of the water, and small fish swam in the shallower ends. Matthew stood on the warm sand, barefooted, and in his usual attire of a red hoodie with a maple leaf on it and black skinny jeans. He looked out over the water, absorbing the scenery. And then the words floated in.

_Fag._

_Gross._

_Queer._

All of the whispers and words directed at him, and he watched helplessly as the sky darkened, the sun disappeared, the sea turned black, and the palm trees shriveled into dead carcasses of a once beautiful tree. And with one last glimpse of the one gorgeous place, Matthew woke up in the usual cold sweat.

He looked over at the clock, which read 6:25am. He still had plenty of time before school. He hopped out of bed silently, shivering as his feet connected with the cold floor. He walked into his closet and picked out a pair of clean black skinny jeans, boxers with a Canadian flag on them, and his usual red hoodie with the maple leaf on it.

He walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on, shedding his cloths and then unwrapping all the bandages and throwing them away, a few dots of blood had dirtied them. He hopped under the hot stream of water and let the liquid soak him, making his blond hair become plastered to his face. He looked over at his hoodie, there was a reason he always wore it. It had been a gift from his grandmother; he had always loved his grandmother. She SAW him, never forgot him, loved him more than Alfred, she GOT him and knew when he had had a bad day. She had made that hoodie for him while she was in the hospital for the last few weeks of her life, it had a message underneath the hem of it, reading: Mattie, I know things can be hard for you, and I know it hurts. But please, hold on and never give up, you're so strong. I love you, Grandma. Matthew loved those words, cherished them, and usually lived off of them. He always would flip the first inch of his hoodie up to see those words, tattooed in a white stitch whenever he was in a bad mood, or had been beat up especially bad.

He finished his shower and grabbed the thick towel, drying off quickly before slipping the cloths on and re-wrapping his arms in more of the bandages. He looked up at himself in the mirror. His hoodie hung off his frame, obviously meant for the old him, that had at least a little muscle and frame, but now was a shallow shell of his old self. He wrapped his arms around himself and snuggled into the comfort hoodie, giving off one of his exceedingly rare smiles before letting it disappear and melt away.

He walked out of the bathroom, heading downstairs and turning on the stove, opening the pantry and pulling out all of the ingredients for pancakes.

He turned on the stove, mixing the ingredients in a big silver bowl before pouring a bit of its contents onto the sizzling stove. He watched as the little bubbles in the mixture rose to the surface, telling him it was time to flip. He professionally shoved the spatula under it and flipped it with perfection, not one splatter or folded corner.

Alfred stumbled down the stairs a moment later, yawning and dragging his school bag after him.

"Good morning Alfred." Matthew said quietly, his brother looked over at him and smiled slightly.

"Morning Mattie. Pancakes?" He asked, still in a slight sleep stupor.

"Yeah, like always." The boy replied, returning his gaze to the perfect pancake on the plate. He flipped one more and gave his brother the plate of the steaming food. "Here." He said, handing him the plate.

"Thanks!" Alfred said excitedly, grabbing the plate and wolfing the first down, followed by the second. Matthew had finished three more, and plopped them down on his brother's plate who ate them all without a second thought. "Thanks Mattie, for the wonderful breakfast." Alfred said sincerely, knowing his brother needed the little extra cheer. The Canadian nodded and made one for him, although he really wasn't hungry.

He stuck the dishes in the sink, deciding he would clean them when he got home. They walked together silently to the bus stop, waiting in the cool air for the yellow transportation device to arrive. It drove up a moment later, opening its creaky doors to allow the two to get in. Alfred got in first, and Matthew was about to get one when the doors started to close.

"W-Wait, I'm here too!" He called out, the bus driver looked over.

"Oh, sorry kid." He mumbled, re-opening the doors. Matthew got in, looking back at the crowd of people. Alfred was already sitting with some girl, chatting her up with his arms wrapped around her shoulder. She giggled like there wasn't a care in the world and leaned over, pecking Alfred's cheek.

He walked back silently, halfway to his favorite back seat. He felt a foot under his and eh went tumbling to the floor.

"Aww, did little gay-boy fall again?" He heard the taunting voice of Gilbert behind him. He struggled to his feet, only to be shoved back to the floor by a hand on his back.

"You'd better stay down, cock sucker; maybe the dirty floor will take you." A Spanish voice taunted. He looked up to see Antonio and Gilbert snickering down at him, and Francis Bonnefoy looking down at him as well, but with a different look. Matthew could only describe it as sadness. Matthew looked up at them sadly; he had lost all fight long ago. He had lost the will to sneer at them and try to punch back. Even his own brother hadn't turned around to see the commotion; he was still flirting with that girl.

"Oi, let him take a seat, the day hasn't even begun yet." Matthew looked up at Francis, who was now looking out the window.

"What, this gay wad? Come on Francis, let's have some fun!" Gilbert cheered, Francis just shook his head.

"I-I'm tired… Let's wait until the football game." He said, trying to think of another excuse provided his last didn't word. Gilbert and Antonio grinned.

"Good idea! Let's save our energy for that!" They both cheered, Francis nodded, still looking out the window.

Matthew stood up, walking back and passing others, they all just looked at him, some with hatred and some just too scared to do anything. He finally sat down in the back, completely alone. He curled up, laying his head on the frame of the window and sighing. This was normal, typical, whatever you wanted to call it. Every DAY, this would happen. And just to make it worse, Gilbert and Antonio played on the same football team as Alfred, so after every game he got beaten up, even worse if they had lost.

The school bus picked up a few more kids, then made its way to the school. Matthew looked at the front of the large building; it was quite a prestigious school, with large and shiny windows and the newest architecture. The old bus came to a halt and he waited until everyone got off so he could get off without a problem. He narrowly avoided the trio by taking a back path to first period.

He sat down in his old blue chair in chemistry class. He looked around; his lab partner wasn't here today. He sighed, his lab partner, Arthur Kirkland, was gay as well and Matthew always felt a bit more at ease around him. He also felt guilt for him; the Brit had a humongous crush on his brother, Alfred. But Alfred wasn't gay, and they both knew it. So at least they both had something to bitch and moan over, but today it seemed his punk friend was absent.

He also noticed that Antonio was missing, which was unusual considering he had seen him on the bus. His old and lazy teacher entered the room, closing the wooden door behind him.

"Good mornin' class." He mumbled, setting his briefcase on the ground next to his table.

"Good morning sir." Rumbled through the classroom.

The teacher said nothing more, turning to the whiteboard and began to write an assignment. He turned to the class, they followed his silent instructions and opened their books, taking out a sheet of paper and answering the questions.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door; the teacher walked over and opened it. Arthur walked in with a small towel soaked with blood held to his nose. Matthew clenched his fists, knowing exactly who had done it.

"Good god Mr. Kirkland! Are you alright?" The teacher asked, Arthur nodded.

"Fell down stairs…" He mumbled, avoiding eye contact and continuing to hold the towel to his nose. The teacher looked him over once more.

"Very well, instructions on the board." The old man said, walking back to his desk.

Matthew watched his friend walk over, with his red dyed hair, combat boots, black skinny jeans with multiple tears, and a shirt that read Sex Pistols. Matthew was always amazed how his friend could complete the look so flawlessly.

"Hey." He mumbled, pulling out the chair next to Matthew and sitting down.

"Di Antonio do that?" Matthew asked, ignoring the attempt at avoiding the subject. Arthur just sighed in exasperation.

"It's none of your concern." He mumbled, taking the towel away from his nose, which was no longer bleeding. He tossed the towel in the trashcan, pulling his huge book out of his book bag and flipping through the pages. Matthew just frowned at him but said nothing. A knock came on the door for a second time. Alfred, who was closest to the door, stood up and opened it. Antonio strode in, grinning happily. Matthew noticed his knuckles, there was a bit of blood on one of them.

"Good mornin' Mr. Carriedo, do you have a reason for being late?" The teacher asked, addressing Antonio.

"Oh yes, someone fell down the stairs and I had to help and assist them." He said, glancing over at Arthur who just flipped him off in response. The teacher, who obviously didn't care, just nodded and returned to the large stack of papers on his desk.

Antonio walked to his lab partner, Gilbert, and they started on their work.

The rest of the period went undisturbed, thankfully, and Matthew stood up at the sound of the bell. He collected his things, watching warily as the trio walked out of the room. Alfred walked over a minute later to the two blonds.

"Hey Arthur, is your nose okay?" He asked with a concerned hint in his voice. Arthur's eyes widened slightly in response of his crush addressing him.

"Uh…. Y-Yeah, it's fine." He mumbled.

Matthew was always amused by his brother, who held no ill wishes against gays. Maybe it was because his brother was gay, but it astounded him how Alfred was the one strait guy who didn't mind gays.

"Kay, cool. It just looked like a lot of blood." Alfred said, "See ya later Mattie." He said, waving and walking out the door, "See ya later as well Arthur." He said, with that he was out the door.

"Arthur, have you ever realized that he is the only one that can actually shut you up?" Matthew joked, Arthur frowned in response as his cheeks lit up slightly.

Second period went fine, none of the trio was in the class so the Canadian was safe for the time being. Finally the class ended and he walked out and headed for the abandoned courtyard. He remembered his first time being there, when the school was remodeled, the old and large courtyard was bricked off and forgotten, although it still stood. Recently, a few of the old bricks came tumbling, and Matthew was skinny enough to fit through the small gap in the wall to go to his little haven. He always ate there, mainly because no one else in the world knew about it, it was like his own little garden.

He crawled through the old brick wall, making sure no one was watching, then grabbed his bag and yanked it though the wall as well. He placed the bricks back in place and stood up, looking around his own little safe haven. The old tables still stood upright; however vines had overtaken most of them. The grass had long ago died but Matthew had brought a pack or two of flower seeds and spread them. Now the place was a mess of brightly stained flowers overgrowing everywhere, although he hardly minded. The one tree in the place was a huge weeping willow in the center, its wispy branches swayed around with the little wind that managed to get in through the roofless top. The sun shone through the non-existent ceiling and gave the tree and plants the sun they needed.

Matthew walked to the tree, sitting right at the base and leaned up against the smooth bark of the tree. He sat there in silence for a moment before deciding he should at last try and eat. He rummaged though his pack and pulled out a bag of pancakes, slowly nibbling on one. He sighed, halfway through his pancake and put it back in the bag. Almost every time he ate, nausea replaced the empty feeling and it slowly escalated to a pain so bad he had to stop. He tossed his bag behind him, laying flat on his back and looking up at the tree. The longer branches reached down and tickled Matthews head and stomach. He let his eyes flutter shut; he still had an hour before his next class.

He had always managed to sleep better there in the courtyard, it was a simple fact. He woke up 45 minutes later, not even knowing he had drifted off, he stood up quickly and headed towards the brick. He pulled the bricks out, crawling out and tugging his book bag along with him. His stomach dropped out of him when he saw the trio walking down the hallway. He almost sobbed when he saw that Francis had seen where he had been hiding for all his three years of high school. He had two choices, either try to get back in his hideout and pray they couldn't get through, or let them beat him up. He thought for a moment, Gilbert and Antonio still hadn't seen him.

"Well, look who it is!" Gilbert called out, breaking into a jog to catch up to Matthew, who had decided to try to bolt. "If it isn't our favorite little queer!"

Matthew felt the first punch before he saw it, the second he turned his head he felt a fist contact with his stomach. He coughed in pain, unable to do much else. He looked down the hallway, which was deserted. He felt another fist contact his cheek and he was sent staggering backwards. And one last knee was brought to his stomach, causing him to fall to the ground in terrible pain.

"You're hard to track, you know that?" Gilbert said, squatting down next to the curled up Canadian. "But it's all good, we found you now." He grabbed the helpless Canadian by the collar and pulled him to his feet.

"S-stop i-it!" He managed to wheeze out, his stomach felt like it was on fire. Surprisingly, Gilbert released him and let him fall. He staggered a foot or so, but remained on his feet. He leaned up against the wall and looked over at Francis, who was biting the inside of his cheek and staring right at him. Matthew looked at the Frenchman with his terrified lilac eyes, pleading for him to do something, anything.

Francis continued to look at the shorter Canadian. He had never thought that it was fair for two football players to team up on the frail, shaking, and terrified Canadian. But he shouldn't care! _God, why do I care so much?! He's just a… f… fucking queer!_ Francis thought, but it made his head hurt to refer to Matthew like that.

Antonio delivered the next punch to his chest, sending the Canadian flying backwards and coughing madly.

"Gilbert, Antonio!" Francis cried out suddenly, not able to stand it any longer. Both boys turned back to him in confusion.

"Oh I'm sorry Francis; I completely forgot that you want your turn too!" Antonio said, they stepped aside, giving him a clear access to Matthew, who was on his knees and had his arms wrapped around his stomach tightly. He crouched over, coughing again.

"N-non, that is not what I meant…" Francis stumbled, _stupid, stupid, STUPID._ Francis mentally scolded himself.

"Well what is it that you mean?" Gilbert questioned.

"I… We er… need to save our energy for the game tonight!" Francis said, the light bulb going off in his head. Gilbert snorted.

"Whatever, one more hit!" He said happily, kicking Matthew over. He fell on his side and made no move to do anything other than stay there. Tears were now streaming down his cheeks and he gritted his teeth. _God no, don't cry Matthieu! Wait! Cry, wait no, don't! I… what am I thinking?!_ Francis had many conflicting emotions at the moment, one, he wanted to punch his two friends, two, he wanted to punch Matthew, three, he wanted to wipe away the Canadian's tears and hold him. He sided with remaining silent and watch as Matthew curled up further and shook, refusing to ask them to stop any more.

"Fine, lets go…" Gilbert said, Antonio followed and reluctantly, Francis followed the three, leaving the blond headed boy sobbing on the floor.

Matthew slowly managed to drag himself back to the brick wall and pull the bricks away. He went inside, pulling his bag in and leaning it up against the wall and placing the bricks back in place. He stood up slowly and did his best to wipe his tears. He walked over to his tree and sat at the base, taking deep and shaky breaths. The deep breaths finally paid off and he sat there, hugging himself tightly.

"Screw third period…" He whispered silently, knowing he was in no shape to walk halfway across campus, nor stand in front of his class and his brother and say he had tripped. He felt a bit of blood on his cheek and guessed it was from when he had been hit on the face. He pulled bandages out of his book bag, which he always kept with him in case the cuts on his arms started bleeding, and ripped a small portion of one off, wiping away the blood on his cheek. He pulled his hoodie up to his chin and looked at the bruises forming along his front. He looked a moment longer at his frail form, noticing he had practically been starving himself and hadn't noticed this entire time.

He pulled his hoodie back down and flipped the hem up, absorbing his grandmothers final words to him, not even spoken ones. He pulled the material up and held the stitching up against his face for a moment. With that, he curled up against the base of the tree and fell into a dreamless sleep.

***An hour and a half later***

Matthew woke up feeling much better, although his stomach still hurt, pain wasn't really a big thing for him. He stood up and walked to the brick wall, knowing he could make it to class with a few minutes to spare if he walked quickly. He left his haven and headed to his last class of the day, Social Studies, with his black and white checkered book bag resting comfortably on his back.

He arrived just before the door closed, taking his seat in the back of the classroom, next to and exceedingly worried Alfred.

"Dude, where have you been? I was worried sick!" Alfred whispered, ignoring the death glare he got from the young teacher.

"I… um…" Matthew looked over at him, Alfred gasped when he saw the cut and bruise on his brothers face, "I fell, don't worry, no big deal. One of the teachers insisted I go to the nurses and she made me lay down for an hour." Matthew said with a convincing tone. Alfred eyed him warily and nodded, having to straighten up before the teacher threw an adult temper tantrum. Of course Alfred hadn't noticed his brother slightly puffy eyes.

The last period of the day passed without incident, which hardly mattered considering that the bad touch trio was going to be at the football game, and they had every intention of murdering him. School ended at four, and the game started at five so Matthew, Alfred, and Arthur hung out in the school library for the hour they had to spend. Arthur was quiet most of the time, and his gaze kept flickering to and away from Alfred. And the Americans gaze even had gone to Arthur once, of course, no one had seen the gesture. They studied like mad for an upcoming test in biology; it was highly obvious that Matthew would be acing it.

Soon enough it was time for the game, Alfred parted ways with the two and went to get dressed while Arthur and Matthew found decent seats on the bleachers. Like always, Matthew hopped off of them ten minutes before the game began and walked over to Alfred, looking over at Antonio and Gilbert, and knowing that they and Alfred were friends; they would never dare hurt Matthew in front of Alfred. Of course Alfred had no idea that Matthew was being bullied.

"Hey Alfred, good luck." Matthew said, offering one of his rare smiles to his brother. Alfred looked at his brother, and then to the bleachers.

"I… uh….yeah, thanks." He said, looking at Arthur. Matthew looked as well, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

"Is something wrong?" The Canadian asked, Alfred jumped out of his stupor and looked back at his brother.

"I… no, it's nothing." He said quickly.

"Alfred, tell me." Matthew pressed, Alfred just offered a white smile.

"It's nothing, dude!" He said happily, Matthew gave him the 'mother' look and Alfred sighed.

"I'll tell you after the game, alright?" Alfred offered and Matthew nodded. With one final 'good luck' Matthew walked back to the bleachers and sat back down next to Arthur, who didn't see him arriving. Matthew watched as Arthur drew Alfred, in amazing detail. He was in his football uniform, the glint in his eyes was exact and the determination in the air was practically seeable.

"That's amazing!" Matthew said, a bit in awe that he never knew how amazing Arthur was at drawing. Arthur yelped, not having seen Matthew there.

"Oh, I uh…." He blushed furiously and shoved the drawing pad in his book bag. "Bloody hell, make some noise when you walk!" he finally concluded. Matthew just sighed.

The game started soon after, and both boys perked up slightly as Alfred ran out onto the field, smiling and waving at the adoring fans as usual. His movie star smile earned many cheers from the girls. Arthur let out a whoop himself, Matthew remained silent, watching as his popular brother raced out on the field. The game begun, and Alfred and his team quickly took the lead, putting the other team to shame.

Matthew watched as Antonio and Gilbert worked hard as well, and when the game finally ended all of the boys were dripping with sweat. Matthew slowly stood up, Arthur grabbed his hand.

"Matthew, you know how stupid it is to go see him with the others around." He said in a warning tone, the Canadian shook his hand off.

"I don't care, I just don't care anymore." He said quietly, walking off to see his brother.

"Hey Mattie, wasn't that great, we won again!" Alfred said excitedly, high fiving everyone as they walked past.

"Hola Alfred, great job out there!" Antonio walked up and high fived him, "Oh, hola Matthew!" The Spaniard said cheerfully, glaring at him evilly when Alfred turned away. Matthew turned a pale color and nodded back at him.

"So, I've got a boatload of homework to do, so I think I am going to go home." Alfred said in a tired tone, remembering the mountain of papers awaiting him.

"I-I think I'll go with you…" Matthew mumbled.

"Oh but Matthew, Gilbert and I wanted you to go with us to get ice cream!" Antonio said, grinning madly.

"Mattie, you should totally go! Antonio and Gilbert are like, the two coolest guys I know!" Alfred said cheerfully, completely oblivious.

"I… Don't feel well…" Matthew lied, Alfred instantly stepped forward and placed a hand on his brothers forehead.

"No fever, but you probably should go home and rest." Alfred mumbled, pulling his hand away slowly, a concerned look filled his sea blue eyes.

You could practically see the rage that emitted from Antonio.

"We can go together, kay Mattie? Let me go grab my stuff!" He said, and quickly went off to retrieve his school supplies.

"You will so pay for this tomorrow." Antonio hissed, walking off without another word. Matthew sighed shakily; he seemed to be alright for the night.

Alfred walked back a moment later, carrying his school bag.

"Hey, let's get home." Alfred said, Matthew nodded, then remembered something.

"There was something you were going to tell me?" He questioned. Alfred immediately froze in his tracks, then looked back at his brother.

"Y-yeah, let's just go somewhere…" He looked around, "less public." He said, noticing the mass of people making their way to their cars. Matthew nodded, walking alongside his brother until they reached an old oak tree away from everybody else. Matthew noticed how Alfred, for the first time in a long time, seemed like he was truly nervous. He fidgeted from one foot to the other and avoided eye contact.

"Alfred…." Matthew said, waiting.

"I… I think I'm gay…."

Silence.

Some more silence.

And just a bit more.

"I have absolutely no idea how to react to that." Matthew said silently, looking up at his brother, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"WELL I DON'T FUCKING EITHER!" Alfred said, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT THE HELL TO DO, ALL I KNOW IS THAT WHEN I TALK TO GIRLS I LOOK AT THEIR FACE, NO MATTER HOW BIG THEIR BOOBS ARE, STRAIT GUYS DON'T DO THAT!" Alfred huffed as he finished his rant.

"… When did you realize this?" Matthew asked, looking around, glad no one was taking any notice to them.

"Wh… when I realized that I watched Arthur's ass when he walked away…" Alfred said with a great deal of difficulty. Matthew almost choked on nothing.

Little did either of them know that Arthur Kirkland was leaning up against the other side of the oak.

"So… you like Arthur…" Matthew was unable to grasp the concept.

"Did I not make that clear? I am fucking gay for Arthur fucking Kirkland…" Alfred barely managed not to shout. "And what makes it worse is I doubt he likes me!"

Matthew was about to respond, about to tell him that Arthur was head over heels for him, when the Brit walked out from behind the tree. His face was as bright as a tomato, and his eyes were opened as far as he could manage.

Arthurs mouth opened, then closed. Wordlessly, he walked off in the other direction. Alfred went completely pale, and Matthew had to push him and urge him to follow the punk.

"Alfred, good god, he likes you too, go!" Matthew huffed, trying to push the heavy quarterback. Alfred looked back at his brother. "Alfred, I promise he does, go go go!" Matthew shouted, shoving him as hard as he could manage. _Please Alfred, make at least one of us happy. Be happy, please._ Matthew thought.

Alfred took off in a sprint to catch up to his Brit.

Matthew stood and watched, unmoving. It hurt, how Alfred got his perfect little fantasy. He would catch up to Arthur, who would probably freak, then they would kiss, and the world would all be fucking perfect. Except for the cutter in the corner. Cutting, Matthew needed it right now.

He sprinted off in the direction of his home, needing to feel the slice of the blade in his skin, the feeling of the blade digging into his flesh, the pain, it was needed right now. Matthew managed to make it home in twenty minutes, he threw the door open and ran into the bathroom. It was around 9 at night, he hadn't realized how long the game had taken.

He pulled his hoodie off and was left in a sleeveless white shirt. He practically tore the bandages off and looked down at his arms. He sighed; they were so beyond being able to be used. Every inch of skin was torn, red, cut. And as much as Matthew needed cutting, doing so in the same place was not fun at all. He looked up and down his arms, no space at all.

"Where else, where else?" He murmured under his breath, searching for a cut-able place on his body. He looked down, perfect.

He pulled his shirt off and looked down at the pale skin of his stomach, perfect and uncut. He locked the door and grabbed a blade, holding the sharp tip of the silver blade to his stomach, sliding it through his skin. He gasped, the pain new compared to his wrist. He looked down, quickly grabbing a towel and pressing it right underneath the cut, letting the blood drip onto the towel. He slid it through again, clenching his teeth and whimpering in pain. He repeated this notion four more times before the room began to spin, however thoughts did not stop. _Why, why dammit?! Why does Alfred get to be happy and not me?! What did I DO, why do I deserve to suffer?! This isn't fair, this isn't fair! _

"God… what did I do wrong?" He whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he slid it through his skin again. _I hate you, I hate you for making me._ He slid it through the same cut again, needing the added pain, _I hate you so much for making me, for helping me become who I am. I HATE YOU FOR LETTING ME LIVE!_ With one final slice, Matthew fainted, dropping the razor and falling to the floor.

**Author's Note: ** Please, please comment! Even if it is just, " " it helps and gives me encouragement. So please, comment!


	2. Choices to be made

Chapter 2

***The next morning***

Matthew groaned and slowly opened his eyes to see the cold tiled floor. W… what happened? He slowly sat up, realizing that he was lying in a small puddle of blood. He looked down at his stomach and remembered. He sat there for a moment, his eyes were dead, the usual small gleam was gone, replaced with a dull look. He stood up slowly and grabbed the towel which lay a few feet away; he cleaned the blood and threw the towel away. He pulled his pants and boxers off and hopped in the shower, turning the water on and letting it drench him. He felt absolutely awful, his stomach hurt, his cheek hurt, his everything hurt. But what hurt worst was the fact that Alfred hadn't noticed the fact that he was laying in the bathroom and bleeding for the entire night. He had probably been busy kissing his BOYFRIEND, or soon to be one anyways.

Matthew couldn't believe it, it angered him terribly, that he didn't have ONE person who he could hug, who he could love, and Alfred had people of both gender, lined up, practically with a sign on them saying "fuck me".

He stepped out of the shower and dried off, wrapping a towel around his waist and running to his room to avoid his brother, who was just waking up and no surprise, a Brit waking up as well, in the same bed. Oh well, at least they had cloths on.

Matthew walked into his room and pulled on another pair of black skinny jeans and a white sleeveless shirt. He pulled the shirt up, quickly wrapping the bandages around his stomach. He wrapped the cotton around his arms as well, then tossed his same hoodie on. Thankfully it had avoided blood and was clean, which was good, Matthew couldn't imagine going to school without it.

He walked downstairs and made pancakes, like every morning. Only this time both Alfred and Arthur walked down the stairs, Alfred still looking like he was asleep and Arthur looking awake and alert, ready to bolt incase Alfred's parents didn't approve of him snuggling with their son.

"Good morning Matthew." Arthur said, noticing the Canadian was already up and cooking.

"Good morning Arthur, did you sleep well?" Matthew asked, eyeing the two before returning to his pancakes.

He blushed slightly, remembering the previous night, "Oh, I slept fine." Arthur was quiet after that, completely lost in all of yesterdays/last nights events. ((I know this is supposed to be about Mattie, but I adore UsUk so, I have to have a bit of it in this story.))

_Arthur walked off, his cheeks burning bright red and tears brimming in his eyes, he didn't even know why. Someone must have forced Alfred to say those things, knowing that Arthur was behind the tree. Tears fell down his cheeks as he sped up, wanting to put a hundred miles between him and the American. _

"_Arthur, Arthur stop!" He heard the Americans voice floating through the air yet he did not turn around, not wanting the other to see him crying. "Arthur!" He felt a hand grab his wrist and spin him around. He stood there facing Alfred, who was completely pale, as if he'd just seen a ghost._

"_Let go of my you bloody git!" Arthur shouted, glad that they were now a good distance away from the school and there were no one to make fun of him._

"_Arthur…" Alfred stood there, for once in his life at a complete loss of words._

"_Who made you say that? Who really wanted to see me this upset?!" Arthur demanded to know, his shoulders shaking he was sobbing so hard, he was no longer able to hold tears back, after all those years of not crying when Gilbert and Antonio had teased him finally came out, and he was left a sobbing mess._

"_No one did, it…" Alfred stared into the Brits emerald eyes and raising his spare hand, wiping away some of the tears, "It was the truth."_

"_Bloody liar, you're not even fucking gay!" Arthur shouted._

_Alfred had no verbal reply to that, instead he leaned forward, pressing his lips up against the Brits. Arthur's eyes were as wide as saucers, staring into Alfred's eyes, which slid shut slowly. 'This is too bloody good to be true.' Arthur thought, but slowly melted into the taller person, bringing his hands up and burying them in Alfred's honey blond hair. Alfred leaned forward more, pinning Arthur to the chain link fence behind him. Alfred bit the others lower lip, Arthur hesitantly opened his mouth and allowed the jocks tongue to enter his mouth and explore._

_They broke apart a moment later, a string of saliva connecting their lips. Arthur blushed, that had been his first kiss and quite frankly he couldn't have been happier that it had been with Alfred. _

"_I… meant what I said Artie, believe me."Alfred whispered, wiping away the tears on the Brits face. Arthur simply nodded in reply. _

_The two smiled at each other for a while, finally moving away and heading home. Arthur crawled into bed with Alfred, snuggling to his chest and falling asleep. Alfred smiled softly and kissed his sleeping Brit on the head before pulling him closer and falling into a deep and peaceful sleep. _

((And thus concludes the drama of UsUk))

"Arthur?" The Brit snapped out of his stupor when he heard Matthew speak his name.

"Sorry, lost in thought. What were you saying?"

"Pancakes?"

Arthur looked down at the plate of pancakes that were being presented to him. "Thanks." He said, taking the plate and sitting next to Alfred, who was already digging in. He noticed Matthew didn't eat even one, instead he cleaned the dishes and sat down in the living room.

There was a comfortable silence in the air, the two lovebirds ate their pancakes. Alfred kept one hand on Arthur's leg, rubbing his thigh up and down. Arthur's face flushed slightly at the nice feeling, but managed to keep himself silent.

Half an hour later they were all boarding the bus, then of course it dawned on them that Alfred was still in the closet, and Arthur was a prime target of the trio. Alfred looked from Arthur, to Matthew, to the bus students, and then back to Arthur. Arthur looked at him, he wanted for Alfred to tell everyone, badly.

Meanwhile Matthew had simply walked to his back seat, hopping over Antonio's outstretched leg and curling up in his usual seat. Once he had noticed Francis glancing back at him, and had quickly curled up further, closing his eyes. His stomach was hurting badly, and he realized that cutting on his stomach might not have been the brightest idea. But oh well, too late now.

They arrived at the school twenty minutes later, Matthew walked to first period with Alfred and Arthur. Alfred walked over to the teacher, talking to him silently until the teacher nodded. Alfred half ran up to Matthew.

"Hey Mattie, would you mind switching seats with me so I could be next to Artie?" He asked, putting on his puppy dog eyes. Matthew sighed and nodded, standing up and grabbing his bag. His stomach dropped when he realized who he sat next to; Francis.

The Frenchman looked up from what he was doodling and saw Matthew with his backpack slung over his shoulder, looking down at the seat next to Francis. He slowly pulled the seat out and sat down, avoiding eye contact with the Frenchman.

"Bonjour~" Francis said merrily, which only made Matthew wince and look up at him, a bit of fear in his eyes.

"H-hello…" Matthew mumbled, looking down and rifling through his bag.

Class begun and it went normally enough. Matthew kept sneaking glances at him, wondering what he was planning, surely it would hurt beyond no end. He tapped his pen up against his leg, listening to the "click, click, click" sound that it made. Francis however, couldn't stand the noise in the eerily silent classroom and he looked over at the Canadian.

"Could you please stop that?" He whispered, although he was sad to notice it probably sounded like a hiss, Matthew paled a good bit and immediately set the pen down. "Thank you." Francis whispered, trying to sound cheery, Matthew kept his eyes trained on his black converse.

Class ended and everyone moved to second period, which amazingly, went without incident. As did third. Matthew was seriously dreading it too, because that meant they had something REALLY hurtful and humiliating planned. He walked across campus; his hands were gripping his book bag straps tightly, so tightly his knuckles were pearly white. He walked into fourth and took his seat next to a Greek boy whose name was Heracles. Of course his neighbor was already asleep, snoring lightly with his feet propped up on the desk.

Matthew couldn't focus for the entire class, he was formulating how to escape the bad touch trio for the rest of the year, could it be done? He sure hoped so, the bullying was pushing him to the limit. Last night, as he lay on the bloody and cold tiled floor, he had had a dream that he had killed himself. And when he woke up, for a moment, he considered it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, would it be good, would he finally not be afraid?

The bell rung and cut off the Canadians train of though. They were on block schedule so school was over, however he desperately needed to go to the library for a book report. So he collected his books and threw them in his book bag and walked out, taking the route of abandoned hallways near his haven to get to the library. He was almost there, almost.

"Finally!" Matthew's blood ran cold as he heard Gilbert's voice float into his head. He slowly turned around to see the trio in the flesh, standing there. Gilbert walked forward, "You know what, you really pissed us off last night. We waited all day, until after the game and then you up and ran off. We had to go beat up Kiku just to let off steam." The albino was now inches from Matthew, who was already shaking. Gilbert pinned him to the wall and he let out a squeak.

Francis looked around, a crowd was gathering, most were jeering to beat the snot out of him. Francis wanted to murder them all, he scowled at the crowd behind him.

The Canadian took a deep breath, _I had this coming, it is alright, it is just pain. _Matthew thought, his hand roamed to the hem of his hoodie as he ran his thumb over the white lettering underneath.

"Well, we can't JUST beat you up, and it seems we have a crowd so we'd better not disappoint!" Antonio said cheerfully from behind Gilbert, glaring cheerfully at the trembling Canadian.

Gilbert however was watching Matthews hand and grinned evilly. With one swift movement he punched Matthew and grabbed him by the front of his hoodie, flipping the bottom of it upside down. He grinned like an ax-murderer when he read the words.

"Well well, isn't this interesting Antonio?" He asked, yanking Matthew forward and showing the Spaniard the words.

"Oh mi amigo, how sweet.~" Antonio sneered, then whispered something in the albino's ear who nodded.

"I like your hoodie Mattie, I think I'll take it!" Gilbert said, yanking the hoodie off and over his head. At this Matthew cried out, for the first time in a long time making a move. He swung his fist forward and decked Gilbert, grabbing his lifeline back and holding it close to his chest.

The crowd "Ohhhhhhh~" ed at Gilbert, who was holding his jaw in shock. He looked up, a murderous glint in his crimson eyes. He shoved Matthew up against the wall and kneed him in the stomach as hard as humanly possible; Matthew cried out in pain, tears were streaming down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around his hoodie, doing anything to keep it.

Gilbert squatted down, prying the hoodie from the protesting and crying Canadians hands and held it up, "Maybe I'll just burn it." He said, stuffing it in his bag.

Only then did Matthew remember the cuts all along his body. His arms were covered in bandages as was his stomach; thankfully those were covered by his sleeveless white shirt. And as of right now his arms were bleeding, rather badly. The crimson liquid soaked through the bandages and dripped onto the floor.

"A-Are you guys getting this?! The fucking queer cuts too!" Gilbert said cheerfully, grabbing Matthew's right arm and holding it above his head, pressing his thumb up against it harshly and watching as the blood seeped through the bandages.

"G-Gilbert, s-stop it!" Matthew sobbed, humiliated as well as in pain.

_Fuck you Gilbert! Stop hurting him! Stop it, god dammit!_ Francis's mind shouted, he hardly even noticed his clenched fists and his murderous expression.

Antonio delivered the next kick, his foot hit right in the middle of the littler boys chest and sent him flying backwards. Her lay there for a moment, before struggling to his feet and looking into the bullies eyes, refusing to look away.

Antonio sneered and whispered into Gilbert's ear again. "How about we humiliate him even further, si?" The Spaniard whispered, and Gilbert immediately understood.

"Well Mattie, I think we'll go ahead and take everything else you've got." Gilbert said, stepping forward and looking his finger in the loop of Matthew's jeans.

"S-s-s-stop i-it…." Matthew yelled, trying to sound strong but instead only succeeding in sobbing. Gilbert lit a cigarette and held it to his lips, blowing the smoke into the others face before holding the lit end to Matthew's arm, earning a hiss of pain from him.

Francis couldn't take it any longer. "Teacher!" He cried out, pointing in a random direction. It worked thankfully, the crowd scattered and even Gilbert-who was trying to force the Canadian to strip in front of everybody—stopped and looked up.

Matthew took this chance to push up against Gilbert and bolt off. Francis watched him go and ushered his two friends off as well. _I can't believe it went that well. _Francis thought.

Matthew—bruised, bloodied, and thoroughly humiliated, ran to his courtyard. He yanked the bricks away and crawled inside, the tears refused to stop falling from his violet eyes. He placed the bricks back and crawled over to his tree, collapsing beneath it. The adrenaline wore off and he lay there, curled up in a ball sobbing. His stomach was bleeding from one of Gilbert's punches and his arms were bleeding as well. His glasses were cracked and lay a few feet away. He allowed himself to sob, he had lost the one thing he needed, his grandmothers words. He lay there, in a small pool of his own blood, and sobbed.

Francis stopped running, and looked at his friends for a moment, _Alright, now to get something…_ The Frenchman thought, waiting until they all sat together on a bench, Francis next to Gilbert.

"Mein gott, was that fun or what?!" Gilbert said excitedly, "We get the best reactions out of him!" Antonio nodded cheerfully.

"Si that was fun! We'll have to find where he hides out so we can have some more fun."

Francis slipped Matthews jacket out of Gilbert's bag unnoticed.

"Well Francis, you seem awfully quiet this week!" Gilbert observed, looking over at his friend.

"Yes, I haven't been feeling well." He lied professionally, "I think I am going to go home." With that he walked off, both boys called at him to get better before becoming indulged in a conversation.

The second their eyes stopped following him he took off in the opposite direction, hopping around people and skimming through the crowd for the boy, even though he already knew exactly where he was. He ran to the brick wall he had seen him emerge a few days ago and kneeled down, tugging on a brick and seeing if it would come loose. Sure enough, it gave away and he had to lay flat on his stomach, he quickly realized both he and his book bag would not fit together and he pulled it off, barely managing to squirm through. He pulled his book bag through as well and put the bricks back.

The stood up and gaped. The courtyard was wide and beautiful, poppies, daisies, roses, almost every flower that Francis had ever seen was there, and in the middle of the flower garden stood a weeping willow. He walked through the flowers, stopping to pull a rose free of a tangle of daisies. He held it up to his face, observing the perfect white color, not a brown spot or blemish could be seen. He had almost forgotten why he was here and dropped the rose, continuing to walk to the large tree.

He stopped cold in his tracks when he saw Matthew, curled up against the cold and painful looking bark of the tree, shaking, shivering and sobbing. Francis had an overwhelming urge to go and hug him, but knew that it wasn't the smartest idea, Matthew still thought of him as an enemy.

He took a few steps forward, Matthew had not yet heard him. He crouched next to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Matthews reaction was like a kicked puppies. He yelped and fell away from Francis, cringing in pain at the sudden movement. He looked up at Francis with wide and fearful eyes.

"P-please, kick me, hit m-me, whatever; but please just go…" He whimpered, trying to scoot away. Tears continued to fall down his face, more from fear than pain.

"Non, non Matthieu. I'm not going to hurt you." Francis whispered, holding out a hand. Matthew immediately backed up further.

"L-liar!" Matthew said, not able to back up any further. He tried putting a hand behind him to back up further, but instead his hand landed in a thorn bush. He yelped and yanked his hand away, which only tangled it up further in the pointy and painful bush.

Francis crawled forward, gently grabbing the others wrist to stop him from tugging away and deepening the thorns. The Frenchman sat on his knees and untangled the thorns from his had gently, making sure the thorns poked him and not Matthew. He finally managed to free the boys hand from the thorns, Matthew didn't pull his hand away however, he was staring into the Frenchman's eyes questioningly.

"Let me help with the bleeding." Francis silently instructed, pointing at the blood all over Matthews wrists. He nodded, still trying to figure him out. _W…. why is he helping me? I bet it's all some cruel trick, I bet Gilbert and Antonio are outside the wall, waiting._ Matthew thought, laying back and trying his best to stop crying, he knew crying while running was difficult.

Francis gently peeled the blood soaked bandages off of Matthew's wrists and looked at all of the cuts; there were dozens on each arm.

"Why are you helping me?" Matthew asked, looking up at him, he wanted to know the truth. Although anything that came out of Francis's mouth was probably a lie.

"I… I don't know." Francis confessed, "But whenever I watched you get hurt, it almost killed me. I wanted to hurt Gilbert and Antonio so badly." Francis continued to clean the boys arms, using a bandage Matthew had and dumping water on it to gently wipe away the blood. He finished with one arm and gently wrapped it up, laying it down and crawling to the other side of him. He picked up the other, carefully beginning to clean the other, "And then it hit me, I think I might love you, Matthieu."

The Canadian looked up at him in shock, "How much did Gilbert have to pay you for you to say that?" He asked softly, refusing to believe it. Francis immediately shook his head.

"It's true Matthieu, I swear." Francis said softly, rubbing the skin softly and ridding it of all the blood. He lay it down next to the Canadian, looking down at him softly and not moving his hands. He refused to scare the poor boy any more.

Matthew said nothing more, he wordlessly nodded and looked away, waiting for Francis to finish.

"Is your stomach bleeding too?" He heard him ask and nodded, he felt the Frenchman gently pull his shirt up. He could tell that Francis was in awe that Matthew would even think to cut somewhere so painful. He carefully unwrapped the bandages and cleaned the cuts, having to open his water bottle and pour more water or get new bandages every now and then. He finally finished cleaning Matthew and remembered something, grabbing his bag and rifling through it.

Matthew watched him warily, unsure of his intentions. Francis smiled when he found it and pulled it out, Matthews eyes widened when he saw it.

"Here, I got this back." Francis said, handing the hoodie to Matthew. He reached out slowly, as if the boy thought it was a trap, before taking the jacket away from Francis and holding it close.

For the first time in his life Francis saw Matthew smile and hug the jacket close to his chest.

"Thank you." He whispered, still hugging the jacket. Francis smiled and nodded.

"Of course." He said happily. Matthew yawned, slipping the hoodie over his head and curling back up in his little ball. _I still can't tell what he wants…_ Matthew thought, opening his eyes slowly and looked up at the other.

Francis smiled warmly and scooted closer, gently pulling the boy onto him so he didn't have to lean up against a tree. Matthew froze and looked up warily, Francis was simply staring off into space, his hand gently stroked Matthew's hair.

_Maybe… maybe he was telling the truth? Nah… _Matthew quickly fell asleep against Francis's chest. His body relaxed and he slumped up against him. Francis looked down at him calmly, trying not to move so the boy could get some much needed rest. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips up against Matthew's forehead.

"Goodnight Matthieu, sweet dreams." He whispered.

***2 hours later, a.k.a 6:00***

Matthew woke up slowly, feeling much better than he had in months, the air seemed fresher, his pillow seemed softer. Wait…. _Did I ever make it to my bed?_ He wondered, his eyes opened and he found himself laying against Francis.

He immediately sat up, and soon regretted the move, for it was cold out and the chilly air smacked him. He started shivering, Francis pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around Matthews shoulders, pulling him closer so he didn't freeze.

"I…I should be g-going." Matthew said in his usual whispery voice.

"Wait, before you do, I have something else to give you." Francis said softly and leaned forward, gently brushing his lips up against Matthews.

The Canadian froze, his violet eyes stared questioningly into Francis's, which slowly slid closed. _God… I can't tell… What does he want?_ Matthew wondered, _his lips are so…. Perfect…._ He thought, and he couldn't help but to lean forward and kiss back, slowly and timidly. The Frenchmen turned his head sideways, running his hands up and down the smaller boys back. Matthew nervously scooted closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and letting out the smallest of moans when Francis licked his lower lip.

They slowly moved apart, panting slightly.

"I know it will be hard for you to trust me…" Francis began, looking away and then back to the Canadian, "But… will you go out on a date with me?" Francis finally managed to ask, hope gleaming in his sky blue eyes. Matthew looked at him in shock and slowly nodded. Francis grinned and pecked the Canadians cheek affectionately, slowly slithering his arm under Matthew's and help him stand slowly. "Great, now, let's get you home." Francis said softly, picking up both his and Matthew's book bags and swinging them over his free shoulder. He helped Matthew walk out of his hiding spot and crawl through the bricks.

And now they walked slowly in silence, Francis's arm was still under Matthew's, holding the frailer boy up. Francis realized that all of the buses had already left, and that they would have to walk all the way home. He looked over at the Canadian, who despite the fact that he had just slept, looked drained of all energy and Francis knew there was no way he could get the boy to walk an hour without collapsing from exhaustion.

"Let me carry you…" Francis said, when Matthew had to stop to lean up against a chain link fence, panting slightly. The Canadian looked up and quickly shook his head.

"I'm…. fine…" He said in between breaths. Francis simply shook his head and moved closer, picking him up bridal style despite Matthew's protests. "P-please put me down!" He said quickly, struggling against the Frenchman's grasp.

"Mon cher, calm down. You don't need to be walking right now." Francis said calmly, not letting go and continuing to walk down the desolate road.

Matthew blushed, he knew French himself, and knew very well what "mon cher" meant. (My love) With a sigh Matthew lay his head up against Francis's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat. He slowly wrapped his arms around Francis's neck, helping lighten himself up slightly. Francis pulled him closer to his chest, continuing to walk.

After an hour of walking in silence, with Francis pausing occasionally to rest or answer a very angry text from his father, usually "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" which he ignored, they finally arrived back to Matthew's house. He gently set the younger boy down on his front step and rubbed the small sweat beads on his forehead.

"Alright, so…" Francis said slowly, rubbing the back of his head and looking away, "My place, tomorrow at eight?" he knew that the ethical thing to do was take him out to dinner, but if he could set up a table and make sure his father was out of the house, he could easily outdo any cook within fifty miles. Matthew just nodded, Francis handed the boy his book bag and dug through his own, scrawling his house address and phone number down.

He leaned down and pecked his cheek once more, before winking and walking away, thoroughly happy with himself. Matthew sighed and watched him go. _… I wonder if he's telling the truth…_ Matthew hoped he was, he wanted someone to hug, someone to love. He wanted someone to brush hair from his face and hold him when he had a bad day. With those thoughts lingering in his mind, the Canadian walked inside and hoped up the stairs, for the first time in a while he was excited about something.

***Two hours later***

Alfred arrived home after Matthew, opening his brother's door and running in happily. He paused when he saw his brother looking off into space. Alfred beamed, his brother had the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, his violet eyes were unfocused yet held many rare emotions for Matthew, hope and joy being two of the major ones that shone. His hair covered his eyes and spread across the pillow behind him, he hugged a pillow to his chest, not noticing that his brother was in the room.

"Someone looks happy!~" Alfred stated cheerfully, walking over and sitting on the edge of his brothers bed. Matthew shot out of his stupor and looked up at Alfred.

"I… I got asked out today…." Matthew mumbled, his face lit up slightly and he looked away, the small smile however, did not leave his lips.

"Really?! By who?!" Alfred demanded.

"F…. Francis…."

Alfred was shocked into silence, was Francis even gay? Apparently so.

"That's great Mattie! When are you to going out?"

"Tomorrow night, his place…" Matthew looked up at Alfred and looked at his brother for the first time truly that day and gasped, seeing the black bruise coating Alfred's right eye. "Oh my god Alfred, what happened?!" Matthew shot up, inspecting his brothers eye.

"I confessed to the football team that I liked Artie, and Gilbert punched me. But it's all good, now I can love Artie and not have to worry about hiding it!" the American said happily. Matthew looked up at him in shock, Gilbert had done that?

"Are they going to kick you off the team?" Matthew wondered aloud.

"Nah, I can throw the best, they can't get rid of me." Alfred said, smiling.

Arthur popped through the doorway, smiling at the two of them.

"Hello Matthew." He said, before directing his attention to Alfred. "Ready to go?" He asked curiously. Matthew raised an eyebrow at the question and Alfred laughed.

"That's what I came in here to tell ya; Artie and I are going on a date, so see ya later!" He said cheerfully, ruffling Matthew's hair and walking out.

Matthew sighed, that would be him tomorrow night. He would walk out, with butterflies in his stomach. He would appear at Francis's door and the Frenchman would open the door and put his arm around the Canadian, then they'd eat dinner, and maybe watch a movie after and Matthew would get to cuddle on the couch in Francis's arms, and maybe he'd fall asleep there and Francis would let him sleep on his shoulder and hug him the entire night. Maybe. Maybe that'd be him tomorrow night. Matthew fell asleep for the first time in a long time with a smile on his face.

***The next day***

Matthew jumped up and cursed silently, the sun was flowing in from the window and the birds chirped, his clock said 7:45. Shit, he was gonna be late if he didn't hurry. He stood up and yanked his pants off, throwing a new pair on. No time for a shower, he had half an hour, and he'd have to run to get so school, the bus had already left. This was the first time he'd overslept, usually dreams woke him up but no, this time dreams hadn't messed with him once all through the night.

He ran in the bathroom, brushed his teeth and ran a brush through his hair. That one annoying curl stuck right back up, never planning on staying down for more than an instant.

He bolted out of his home, and ran all the way to school.

He arrived seconds before the bell and sat down next to Francis, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes, trying to re-gain his breath.

"Are you alright?" A concerned French accent asked, Matthew looked up and nodded.

"Just…. Ran to…. School…" He mumbled, and felt a hand lightly rubbing his back to soothe his radical breathing. Francis said nothing, continuing to rub his back. He made sure neither Francis nor Antonio saw him; he still hadn't said anything about Matthew to them. A moment later class begun, and Francis slowly removed his hand from his back, moving it under the table to rest on Matthew's leg. He ran his hand up and down his leg soothingly, wishing he could close the space between them and kiss him, then again, he had been wanting to do that since he turned around and left Matthew's house last night.

Class ended soon enough and Francis waved his two friends goodbye and turned to Matthew.

"How much time do you have until your next class?" Francis asked, looking over at Matthew.

"15 minutes…" He answered quietly, looking around the now empty classroom, even the teacher had left a moment ago.

Francis smiled and nodded, standing up and offering a hand for Matthew to take. He sheepishly accepted, allowing the Frenchman to pull him up. He looked up at the man, his eyes wide, as if saying, "well?". Francis leaned forward slowly, gently pressing his lips up against Matthew's. The boy leaned back up against the table and let Francis press against him, and opening his mouth nervously when his tongue flicked across his lip. He felt Francis's tongue explore his mouth slowly, flicking over every inch of his mouth.

Francis pressed up against Matthew with a bit more force, causing the Canadian to lean up against the table even more, eventually resorting to hopping up on the tables edge and sit on it, his legs spread slightly allowing Francis to move in between his legs, snaking one hand around his waist and letting is other bury itself in Matthew's caramel hair. The Canadian wrapped his legs around his waist tightly, moaning slightly as Francis's hand ran along the edge of his hoodie and under it slightly, brushing against his delicate skin over his jeans line. _What am I doing, this is Matthieu!_ Francis thought, stopping his hands from going any further, he didn't want to startle or frighten the younger one.

He removed his hands and slowly pulled away, trying his best NOT to get turned on by the panting, breathless Canadian who kept letting little moans and whimpers escape his lips. He cupped Matthew's hand with his hand, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone.

"We should probably go to class…" Francis whispered, not wanting to leave at all. Matthew nodded, hopping down from the counter slowly and walking out, sparing one last glance back and smiling slightly.

"See you tonight…" He half whispered, before walking out. Francis grinned like a complete idiot as he stood in the middle of a classroom. The lights shut off and he finally managed to walk out, hardly able to compose himself long enough to make his next class.

***After school***

Matthew arrived home on a normal schedule for the first time in a while, dropping his book bag off at the bottom of the stairs, hopping up the stairs, taking them by twos. He had to find what to wear, oh god, this was going to be difficult.

He opened his closet; most of his pants were jeans, all of them black. And he had a few shirts, but he felt best in his hoodie and he didn't want to take it off. However, if Francis was serious about this- Matthew's head was still filled with doubts- then he should at least try to look decent.

He sighed and grabbed a towel, heading into the bathroom and shedding all of his cloths. He hopped under the hot stream and quickly showered himself off, rubbing up and down his arms and over his stomach. It was amazing how quickly his wounds had healed. By no means were they gone, they were still red and visible, but they didn't bleed randomly, nor hurt. The same with his stomach. For the first time in years he didn't need to wear bandages over his arms, just a long sleeved shirt.

He turned the shower off and stepped out, wrapping the towel around his waist and walking into his room. He closed the door behind him and opened his closet doors once again, glaring at the cloths.

"What to wear, what to wear…" He muttered, his eyes scanned the cloths.

He finally selected a pair of nicer jeans, dark blue instead of black, and a dark purple long sleeved shirt that clung to my body slightly. Oh well, better than usual… He walked back into the bathroom, picking up a smaller towel and drying his hair, then combed it out. He brushed his teeth and looked in the mirror, placing his glasses back on from the shower. He shrugged and sighed, it would be getting no better than this, he just hoped Francis wouldn't mind.

By the time he was done it was around 7:30, it would take half an hour or so to get there, he still remembered how to get there from when the bus had picked Francis up on school mornings, so no worries about getting lost.

He walked out of the house, noticing Alfred was not present, which nowadays was normal, he spent all of his spare time with Arthur.

Matthew walked slowly, pacing himself so he didn't break off into a sprint.

***Francis's house, before Matthew arrives***

The Frenchman ran around his kitchen, pulling a pot out of an over, placing another in, and 100 other things. He had yet to get ready, he had a detention until an hour ago and of course the bus had already left so he had to run home, before returning to his house he had to stop by the store of course, which took another 15 minutes as he literally sprinted along the aisles.

Francis nearly screamed when the doorbell rung, _God, please don't be Matthieu!_ He thought, hurrying to the door and swinging it open.

Gilbert and Antonio stood there, grinning happily.

"Bonjour mon ami's. Now isn't a good time…" Francis said, returning to his kitchen, the two followed him.

"Cooking for someone?" Gilbert asked. Francis paid no attention to him, scowling when he saw he was missing an ingredient.

"Damn…" He muttered, pulling the last of the things out of the oven, the sauce wasn't needed but… Francis NEEDED this to be perfect for the sake of Matthew.

"What is it, mi amigo?" Antonio asked happily.

"I forgot something on the list…" Francis said sullenly.

"Well, we can stay here and wait for your visitor while you go get it, won't we Gilbert?" Antonio said, glaring at Gilbert, who would have easily left without a second thought. He sighed and nodded.

"Da, we'll stay here." He mumbled.

"Merci." Francis said, bolting out the door. He slammed it shut behind him, rushing to his sisters car, throwing the red door open and then throwing it closed, starting the engine and bolting off. He knew that Matthew could arrive any minute, and he refused to be late for that.

He was in such a rush he forgot exactly WHO was coming over.

He forgot that Gilbert and Antonio don't like Matthew.

And that…. May just cost him…

Matthew arrived finally to Francis's home, it had started to mist lightly halfway there and he had to run to avoid being drenched. His cloths clung to his body tightly as he nervously walked up the steps.

He held his hand up against the cool wood before knocking softly. He slowly pulled his hand back, waiting for Francis to come forward and welcome him in. However, he was not greeted with Francis, rather Antonio.

"…" It took Antonio a moment to process what was going on, even then, he didn't understand why Matthew was there. "GILBERT!" He called out, turning around and grinning madly. He already had his hand balled in the front of Matthew's shirt.

The albino appeared a moment later, "What is it Toni?" He asked, taking one glance at his friend then at who was at the front door, looking absolutely petrified.

_So Francis lied. He did, they planned this all, from the moment that he started being nice to me. He lied, he n-never cared.._ Even Matthews thoughts became clouded with tears. _He never cared._ Tears fell down his face, even Gilbert was slightly surprised to see tears before hitting him.

"Oh? Is the baby that scared?" He taunted. Too bad it was the wrong idea to taunt Matthew when he was sad.

Without a seconds hesitation, Matthew swung his fist into Gilbert's jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. Antonio hardly had a second to react before Matthew had kneed him in the stomach. Antonio coughed weakly and sunk to his knees. Gilbert however, had recovered from his trance and spun around, elbowing the Canadian in the chest. "Ack!" Matthew cried out, having to lean up against one of the porches wooden beams. Gilbert pressed him up against it briefly before throwing him down on the floor, stomping on his chest with all of his force.

To this Matthew half screamed, immediate pain welling in his chest. Gilbert paused with his foot on his chest.

The rain was now pouring; hardly anything could be seen beyond the safety of the porch.

Antonio piped up, "Gilbert, d-did you just break his rib?" he asked, a hint of nervousness could be heard in the Spaniards accent.

"SO WHAT IF I DID?!" Gilbert immediately replied, thinking the next thing Antonio said.

"We could go to jail for that!" He said, completely freaking out and taking a step back.

Matthew was too pre-occupied with pain to notice any of this. It felt like his chest was on fire, like someone was tearing him apart from the inside out. Tears continued to stain his cheeks. _I can't tell what hurts more…_ He thought silently, slowly forcing his eyes open to see both of them staring down at him.

Slowly, he stood up and turned around without as much as a second thought. The pain was scream worthy, he bit his lip to the point of blood and let the rain soak him thoroughly. It plastered his hair to his head, and almost hid his tears. Almost.

"FUCK!" Francis shouted at the top of his lungs, he was in the checkout line and for the first time had a moment to think. Then he remembered who he had left at the house. And who they were supposed to greet. A mother covered her child's ears and hissed something at him, however he was too busy shoving through the crowd of people and running to his car.

Antonio had texted him a moment ago: _Doorbell just rung, get home soon. _He made it to his car in one piece and turned it one, going full speed and ignoring the pounding rain.

He burst through the front door, almost immediately seeing Gilbert holding an icepack to his chin and Antonio laying flat on his back, a bruise coating his side.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!" Francis shouted at the top of his lungs, his head shook back and forth, looking for the Canadian.

"Who?" Gilbert asked, looking startled to the maximum.

"WHERE IS MATTHIEU?!" Francis shouted at the top of his lungs.

"…." Neither of them answered, slowly, very slowly, piecing the puzzle together. "He…" Gilbert said slowly.

"Left…." Antonio finished. Francis took deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to form words, harder said than done.

"If he does… something…. Crazy, I will NEVER forgive either of you." Francis hissed, throwing the door open yet again and running outside.

"Gilbert…" Antonio said slowly, "You don't think that…. He was waiting for that queer?"

"Toni… I think Francis is gay….."

Utter silence.

And FINALLY, they both got it. Why Francis never helped beat Matthew up, why he always ended them, and why the Canadian had shown up at his house.

Francis had the car started, and he rushed to the Canadians house. _Matthieu, I'm so sorry, can you ever forgive me? _

Somehow Matthew managed to arrive him in the midst of a broken rib and the pouring rain. He walked upstairs, hearing VERY loud moans and sounds coming from Alfred's room. He did nothing, not sigh, nor shrug his shoulders. He just walked to his room and sat on his bed. He kicked the door shut and reached over into his drawer. He pulled out the dagger. His father had bought it for him when he was ten, his father's intentions of buying the dangerous weapon were still unknown to him. He had never cut with this knife; the blade was too thick and would leave much bigger and evident scars.

But this time he had no intention to just cut.

He held the blade to his neck, then took a last glance around.

"It's been fun…" He whispered, slicing the blade through his skin and his world went black.

**Author's Note: **So I managed to get this chapter out, I had to proof read it and add a few scenes to make it acceptable. I had wayyy too much testing this week, so sorry if it's rushed or whatever.

ALRIGHT, I HAVE A COMPETITION FOR YOU ALL.

I couldn't decide if I should kill Mattie or not, so, comment on whether or not you think he should die and whatever side gets the most comments winsss!

PLEASE FREAKING REVIEW!~~~~


	3. Is life a savior or is it hell?

Author's Note: Well DAMNNN, I expected to get like, one or two comments on the last chapter. But I got like, 30. THANK YOU GUIES SOOOO THE FUCK MUCH, you seriously made my day! I am sooooo sorry for not posting sooner, my motherfucking computer decided to crash, so no internet access for me! It KILLED me, literally. I just got it back and I am like, typing like a freaking madman. So please guys, keep the comments up! Every comment just made me giggle like a freaking giddy school girl. So… will Mattie live, or will he die? Read to find out.

Thankies for reading~

Chapter 3

Is life a savior or is it hell?

"Matthieu!" Francis shouted, slamming his car door shut and taking Matthew's front door steps by threes, finally arriving at the top. He threw the door open and ran inside, not taking the time to close it. Francis had a bed feeling that Matthew did something very, very bad. He ran around the first floor for a moment, not knowing where his little Canadian's room was. "Matthieu!" Francis shouted again, hoping that he would reply. No such luck. He ran up the stairs, flinging one door open, which turned out to be Alfred's room. It was plainly obvious too, Alfred was on top of Arthur. Francis would have admired the scene of the two naked men had he not been terrified for Matthews life.

"Dude, what the hell?!" Alfred said, pulling the sheets over him and Arthur, who was shrinking under the American in embarrassment. Francis was already halfway down the hallway. He froze when he found the end of the hall, the only thing that stood there was a whit door with a plain sign on it reading, "Pancakes are my life." Francis looked down at the white carpet. Or, what used to be a white carpet. Blood was seeping under the crack of the door and staining the floor.

Francis threw the door open, almost fainting at the sight of his Canadian, a knife lay scattered a few feet away from him, blood gleamed on its blade as if saying, "Look what I did." He whipped out of his phone, barely able to hold back tears as he dialed 911.

"B-bonjour, mon petit Matthieu, aide, il est mourant!" (Hello, my little Matthew, help, he's dying!) Francis always slipped into his native tongue when he was panicked, and it took him a minute to understand what the lady on the other end of the line was saying.

"Sir, sir? I can't understand you, English?"

"O-oh yes, sorry. My little Matthieu, he-he tried to kill himself. We need an ambulance." Francis dropped to his knees, holding two fingers up against the Canadians wrist, feeling a butterfly pulse. "Yes, yes. He had a pulse, barely, HURRY!" Francis half shouted into the phone, giving the lady the address.

Alfred burst into the room, just having thrown pants on. His eyes widened and let a small whimper escape his lips. "God… no…" He whispered, Arthur entered, his eyes widened as well and he quickly walked over to Alfred, laying a hand on his shoulder. Tears quickly streaked the Americans face, "MATTIE!" He shouted, running over and dropping to his knees, "Mattie, wake up!" He said, laying a hand on his unconscious brother's shoulder, shaking him lightly. Arthur rushed over and pulled him into a hug, trying to calm him. Francis sat there, refusing to cry. He cradled the Canadian, holding a hand up against his neck to try to stop the bleeding. How could he live without Matthew? How could he possibly survive?

***1 day later***

The funeral was the next day. It was a cloudy day, the dark puffs of fog hung thickly in the air and obscured everyone's vision. The light grey clouds danced around people, hugging them with their wispy arms. Francis was sitting in the small group that had gathered for Matthew's funeral. Alfred, Arthur, Francis, a few distant relatives, and surprisingly, Matthew's parents, had gathered. Tears streaked almost everyone's faces, the tears were the terrible type, the tears that were silent, there was so much pain that it hid everything else, no words could even be bothered to be said. The preacher stood behind the mahogany coffin, reading from his little book with a solemn expression.

Alfred still couldn't believe it, he kept staring at his motionless brother, who lay inside the velvet coffin, with a white suit on, a white rose was laced between his hand that lay on his chest. He was terribly pale, and unlike usual, there was no rise and fall of his chest. His eyelids didn't flutter, or show signs of dreams.

Slowly and without anybody noticing, rain slowly began to fall from the clouds, soaking everyone thoroughly. Francis hardly noticed, he himself was dressed in a black suit, with a grey vest on under it, his usually perfect hair was loose and tumbled down in front of his sea blue eyes. His normal smile was not there, he hadn't bothered to apply one. His mouth was hanging open the slightest bit and his sapphire eyes were dimmed to a dull grey look. Tears were the only glint in his eyes; they filled them and fell over, staining his cheeks.

The preacher finished his words and took a step back, giving a everyone to say their final goodbyes. Francis stayed behind most of the sobbing relatives, wanting to kill them all, they didn't really care, and they never had.

Finally he made his way to the front of the line. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips up against the Canadian's cold forehead.

"I'm so sorry Matthieu, I don't even have anything to say to express how sorry I am…" Francis whispered against his skin, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment and then stood back up, with a final "Je t'aime, Matthieu." he took a step back, allowing the next person their chance.

Alfred was up last, he walked up and looked down at his ghost of a brother. Somehow, a smile formed on his lips.

"Hey Mattie, I-I know you wouldn't want everyone sad; even at your funeral. S-so I'm gonna try to smile, even though you hurt me Mattie, you hurt me a lot. B-But it's all good, because I must have more than hurt you for never realizing how much pain you were in, how broken you were. S-so… so… I wouldn't have wanted anyone else for a brother. Thank you for helping me find Artie. Goodnight Mattie, sleep well."

Alfred walked to the comforting arms of Arthur, and they walked away together. Everyone else left, rushing to their cars to avoid the rain, which was now coming down by the buckets. Francis stood rooted where he was; his cloths already clung to his frame. He watched as the huge machine closed the coffin lid and lowered Matthew into the ground. They threw the dirt on top of the coffin and slowly everyone left.

Francis was left there, standing emptily in front of the tombstone, he held a bouquet of roses in one hand, though he no longer had the will to hold them up and they went falling to the muddy round, their perfect peddles were ruined with the murky mud. Francis looked down at the grave, no tears fell from his eyes, there were none left to cry. Slowly, he turned to walk home, regretting everything since the moment he saw Matthew for the first time the entire way home.

"Francis, yo Francis!" Francis was shaken awake by a nervous sounding American. He bolted up from his original slouched position in the chair. "You're crying." Alfred observed. Francis raised a hand to his face, slowly wiping the tears away.

"So it was a dream…" Francis mused, looking around the hospital waiting room. They had been there for hours, after the ambulance had arrived at Matthew's house, everything had been a huge blur. And somehow Francis was now sitting in the exceedingly uncomfortable chairs of the hospitals waiting room, waiting for a doctor to come out and tell them if his Matthieu was alive.

"What?" Alfred asked, Francis simply shook his head, propping his chin up on the palm of his head, locking his eyes on the door and waiting for someone to come out and tell them something.

It was a terrible feeling. First of all, the seats were hurting EVERYBODIES ass, second; they had no idea if Matthew was alive, third, their hospital food SUCKED. A lady walked out of the door and Francis nearly had a heart attack, she however walked right passed them and to another worried family. Francis watched as their hopeful expressions morphed to worried, sad, and then like their lives were over. The little boy, maybe 5 or 6, grabbed his older sisters hand and looked up at her with his puppy dog eyes, asking where his daddy was.

Francis looked away, that had been terrible to see. Alfred was watching as well, only he had the guts to continue watching until the broken family wandered off.

"Alfred…" Francis said, looking over, he needed to know something, "Matthieu is broken… Do you… do you think we can fix him?" Alfred ran his hand through his hair, Francis noted he looked ten years older than he usually did.

"I… Don't know, Francis, he's so… so hurt, so broken and shattered. It's partially my fault, I never noticed." Alfred continued to speak, ignoring Arthur who protested to his statement, "However, I think it can be done…" he concluded slowly, closing his eyes and resorting to lean up against Arthur.

No one spoke after that, they all waited for news.

Another hour later the same kind nurse that helped Francis re-appeared. She pushed through one of the doors that led out of the O.R and looked around slowly, spotting Francis and the others. She walked over slowly, cradling a chart in her arms. All of the people stood up immediately, searching her face for emotion.

"Please follow me." She said calmly, turning around and walking away. They all followed after her with quick steps, pelting her with questions. Every time she answered with, "we're almost there, one more minute.". Everyone was dying to know if their Matthew was alright, the woman's face was utterly unreadable. Finally they arrived to the end of a long hall, everyone turned as she opened a door. Inside lay Matthew, a pale, half dead looking Matthew, but none the less, he was alive. Alfred took a huge bound forward, sinking to his knees so he was about eyelevel with his unconscious brother. "My name is Elizeveta, so please ask any questions that may arise." The kind nurse said, bringing everyone's attention back to her.

"He… He's alright, right?" Francis asked shakily, fearing her answer. Any number of things could still be wrong, cancer, coma, the possibilities were endless and they made the Frenchman's head spin.

"He lost an incredible amount of blood while we were operating, he coded three times, but yes… If all goes well he should be alright, given a few therapeutic lessons."

"Why is there a tube down his throat?" Alfred asked suddenly, cutting off Elizeveta's next sentence.

"That was my next topic… When he slit his throat, he tore his vocal chords to shreds. We have no way of knowing if the tissue will heal correctly or not-"

"Will he be able to talk?!" Arthur asked suddenly, not having spoke up in forever.

"I… It is a possibility. Or his tissue could heal wrong and he would… he would no longer have the capability to speak." Elizeveta said slowly, biting her lip and looking away from them all. "Anyways, he should be waking up within the next 24 hours, if one of the doctors isn't in the room, make sure he doesn't try to speak, or take the tube out. It would be catastrophic." She said, slowly walking out with one last sad glimpse at the three.

Francis wanted to shove Alfred and Arthur out of the room so he could curl up next to the Canadian and hold him, but that would be rude… Still, Francis seriously considered it.

The world seemed completely and utterly silent, you could practically hear the crickets. Alfred was still of one knee, absentmindedly holding Matthew's hand. Arthur stood behind the American, rubbing his shoulder. Francis was still standing at the door, looking at the three. _I should leave, I keep forgetting that Matthieu doesn't know anything. He still thinks I hate him… but I could never bring myself to leave…_ The Frenchman sighed, closing his thoughts and focusing his attention back on Alfred, who was talking.

"Hey Mattie… I… I'm gonna go, you don't need me here… Y-you need Francis… So I just… I love you, okay?" Alfred said silently, standing up and looking back at Francis, letting the Canadians hand slip out of his, "Can you stay here until he wakes up?" Alfred asked softly, Francis could see it hurt him to leave, but he knew that Francis had to help. Alfred couldn't be the one to fix Matthew, it had to be Francis. So with a final goodbye both Alfred and Arthur left the little white room and closed the door behind them, leaving Francis all alone with the Canadian. He sighed and took a seat next to the frail figure, pausing to brush a piece of hair out of Matthew's eyes.

Francis glanced over at an old clock hanging on the wall, noticing it was near six in the morning and he'd been up all night. The Frenchman simply sighed, he had no obligation to fall asleep, when Matthew woke up, he'd probably be frightened and maybe even mad, and Francis refused to fall asleep. However despite his attempts to stay awake, he finally slumped up against the side of Matthew's bed, his hand never leaving the Canadians.

***The next morning***

Francis woke up with a terrible back ache, his eyes slowly slid open and he sat up, groaning and listening to his back crack in protest. He looked around, remembering the current days events. His eyes immediately snapped to Matthew, who was still sleeping peacefully. Francis noticed his hand was no longer holding Matthew's; he quickly moved his hand forward and grabbed the Canadians again. He ran his thumb over his knuckles, squeezing his hand lightly. Unfortunately there was no reaction from Matthew; the only indication of him being alive was his faint breathing and the steady beeping of the dozens of monitors behind and surrounding the bed.

"Good morning Matthieu." Francis whispered softly, standing up and leaning over to kiss his forehead lightly, "Please wake up soon, I have so much I need to say." He pulled back and sat back down, looking at the clock and noticing it was only 8am. He sighed and closed his eyes again, slumping in the chair.

Nurses were in and out of the room all day, changing IV's and offering to bring in a cot for Francis, who politely declined. Many doctors came in and did their best to determine when the boy would wake up, Francis averaged them all, and got somewhere around tonight or tomorrow morning. The day inched by, and it practically killed Francis. Alfred came halfway through the day and sat with his brother, smiling softly and talking to him even though Francis was convinced Matthew couldn't have heard a word.

Around six in the evening Francis returned home for an hour to change, and he ran by Matthew's house to grab the Canadians hoodie, carefully folding it and placing it inside of the small bag he'd brought from his house. Finally an hour later he drove back to the hospital, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, eager to see Matthew again.

Francis had to park at the back of the parking lot, and he sighed when it started pouring, managing to thoroughly soak him in the fifth teen seconds it took him to run to the front door. He walked in and smiled kindly at the blond girl sitting at the front desk. Earlier that day Francis had learned her name was Lily. She smiled and waved back, returning her concentration to the monitor in front of her. Francis arrived back to Matthew's room to find he hadn't waken, he sighed sadly. Francis knew it may take a while for the Canadian to wake up, but he wanted to see Matthew so badly, he wanted to gaze into his lilac eyes and see him smile again.

Francis dropped his bag under the chair and sat down, watching his chest rise and fall. Francis pulled out a book and cracked it open, trying to read. He finally managed to become indulged in the trilogy. He snapped his head up from his book when he heard something, rather, the absence of something. The little beep beep that usually filled the air, was now replaced with various other sounds.

Francis's heart almost stopped as well.

Doctors rushed in the room, "He's coding!" Francis heard one shout, but all the Frenchman could do was stare down in shock at the pale Canadian. He watched as doctors pulled the top of Matthew's gown down, "Charge to 200!" One of the doctors called, using the shocking paddles. To no avail. The monitor now showed a single strait line, no slopes to show a heart beat.

"Matthieu!" Francis cried out, snapping back into his senses, trying to rush forward. He was stopped by a large doctor who wrapped his large and muscled arms around the panicking Frenchman's waist.

"Sir, you need to leave now." He said, trying to push the Frenchman out of the room. Francis simply ducked under his arms and continued to try to get to his Canadian. "Charge to 250!" The doctor called out in a panic, shocking Matthew again.

By this time Francis had tears brimming in his eyes, the big doctor had succeeded in holding him back. He no longer had any power to resist, and he stood there watching, utterly mortified, as the Canadian's heart refused to start. Francis absolutely refused to cry, and he tried his hardest to. He barely managed not to.

"Charge to 300!" The doctors dried out in one last desperate attempt. The jolt ran through the Canadians body and finally, the monitor started beeping again, and the slow rise and fall of Matthew's chest returned to normal. The doctor slowly released Francis, who took a wobbly step forward and raised his hand slowly, taking hold of Matthew's again. _I'll never let go of you again Matthieu, I promise._ Francis thought, ignoring the doctors murmuring behind him and focusing on Matthew. "Alright, that was a possible outcome of the surgery, but he's in the clear now. He should be fine." The doctor explained, running a hand through his dark brown hair that was streaked with gray. Francis nodded and sat back down.

The doctors left and Francis broke down. He lay his head on the edge of Matthew's bed and held his hand tightly, his shoulders shook violently with each ragged breath he took. "M-Matthieu, I'm so s-s-sorry." He sobbed, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his teeth. He held Matthew's hand for dear life, trying to choke down his sobs.

Very slowly, Matthew's eyes slid open. He could vaguely feel someone holding his hand, and he could hear sobs, though he could not see whom they were coming from. He looked around the room, _wh-what happened? D-did it work, wait, stupid question. Of course it didn't… I can't even end my own life, how pathetic. _Matthew thought, very slowly turning his head to see a head of blond hair, it took the Canadian a moment to realize it was none other than Francis. He opened his mouth to say something, or to ask why he was here, but nothing came out. Matthew's eyes widened and he began to panic, _Why can't I… why can't I talk?!_ The terrified Canadian thought, tears pooled in his eyes.

He quickly squeezed Francis's hand for an explanation. The Frenchman shot up from his slumped over position and looked over at Matthew with red and puffy eyes. He immediately used the back of his free hand to wipe away his tears, "M-Matthieu…" He whispered, scooting closer. On instinct, Matthew scooted back and away from him.

Matthew tried to speak again, only earning a searing pain in his throat, he slapped a hand over his throat and found the tube. His eyes widened even more and the tears of panic slid down his cheeks. He tugged weakly at the tube and Francis had to raise his hand quickly and pull the others hand away, even when it made him flinch.

"Shh, Matthieu, let me talk and explain." Francis said, holding his hand down his side so the Canadian couldn't mess with the tube. Francis explained it all to the Canadian, what the doctor said and how long he'd been asleep. He explained in great detail about why Gilbert and Antonio had been at the house, and Francis apologized dozens of times every second, keeping his hand on Matthew's. When he was done he took a deep breath and removed his hand from Matthew's looking deeply into the lilac eyes, practically begging for forgiveness.

Slowly, Matthew held his hand out, trying to reach for the Frenchman weakly. Francis obligated immediately, standing up and sitting on the edge of the bed near him. Matthew looked up at him, tears still gleamed in his eyes. Francis leaned down and kissed away a spare tear, wiping away the rest gently. "Don't cry, mon cher." He purred, changing positions so Matthew could lay on his chest. The frail boy crawled closer to Francis, balling his hands up in his shirt and closing his eyes, whimpering lightly. _Not my voice too, not the one thing I thought I couldn't lose…_ Matthew thought weakly, biting his lower lip.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Francis said, reaching over for his bag. Matthew watched with curious eyes, wondering what he needed. The Frenchman pulled out Matthew's hoodie and handed it to him, watching as the Canadian grabbed it and pulled it close to him, burying his face in the soft material. Francis lay on his side next to him, running a hand down his side comfortingly and pulling the sheets up to Matthew's shoulders. They were both silent for a while, Matthew had slowly slid closer over the course of an hour and was now being cradled in Francis's arms. His eyes were closed and he was completely drained of all energy, he wanted to sleep so badly, but was afraid that this was all a dream, and he'd wake up in a hospital bed all alone, he was worried Francis was too good to be true.

"Matthieu, go to sleep alright? You need it." Francis whispered softly, rocking him back and forth gently. Matthew looked up at him and buried his hands in Francis's shirt, pulling him closer to him. Francis brushed a kiss across his forehead, running a hand up and down Matthew's arm until the smaller boy fell asleep. Francis however stayed awake, cradling him the entire time, occasionally brushing a lock of hair out of Matthew's face.

Around midnight Elizeveta came in, looking down at a chart. She briefly looked up then returned her attention to her charts until it registered in her brain what she'd seen. She snapped her eyes back up and looked at the two in awe. Francis raised a finger to his lips, signaling for the nurse to be quiet. She nodded and walked over.

"So he woke up." She whispered softly, looking down at the sleeping Canadian happily. Francis merely nodded and continued to look down at him. "If you want to wake him up, I can take the tube out now." She said, "Or we can wait until he wakes up." Francis nodded at the second one, knowing that Matthew needed the sleep. Elizeveta nodded and walked out of the room, promising to come back in a few hours.

Francis reached down and repositioned the jacket so it was covering the Canadian better and sighed, this was going to be a long night.

***Three hours later, A.K.A 1:00ish in the morning***

Matthew slowly found consciousness after a few extra hours of rest. He found himself still resting against Francis, who was holding a book open with one hand, reading it intently. _So it wasn't a dream…_ Matthew thought happily, opening his eyes a bit wider and squirming around slightly, he had slept on his arm wrong and now it was asleep. Francis looked up from his book and smiled, setting his book down and turning his full attention to the Canadian.

"Bonjour Matthieu, did you sleep well?" He asked cheerfully, Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but yet again nothing came out. He frowned and bit his lip, to no avail, not one sound. He finally nodded in response, frustrated at his lack of speech. Francis noted his distress and spoke up again, "Elizeveta, a very kind nurse here, said she could take the tube out when you woke up. So hopefully you'll be able to take again soon." Francis said, and as if on cue, the Hungarian nurse walked in, smiling happily and cradling a chart under her arm.

"Hello Matthew, I'm Elizeveta, I can take that annoying tube out now." She said, taking a step forward and leaning over, slowly and carefully taking the tube out. Matthew closed his eyes and held onto Francis's shirt tightly, not at all liking the uncomfortable feeling of having something sliding out of his throat. Soon the nurse recoiled, finishing and walking out, taking the annoying tube out with her. She paused at the door, "Matthew, don't strain yourself. If you can't talk right away, just take a breath, alright?" She said, walking out of the room and leaving the two.

Matthew opened his mouth and tried to speak, this time only a small sound emitted from his lips that sounded similar to a groan. Francis patted his shoulder sympathetically, silently motioning for him to stop.

"Let's not strain your throat alright mon cher? It will all return soon enough." Francis cooed, Matthew just huffed in response. "Oh yes, I almost forgot…" Francis mused, reaching over and ruffling through his bag. He pulled out his cell phone, searching through his contacts for a moment before calling.

"Bonjour Alfred." Francis said cheerfully into the phone.

"Francis, what's wrong? Did something happen?" The American voice asked warily into the phone. Francis just realized it was a few hours after midnight and Alfred had probably been sleeping.

"Non non, everything is great. Matthieu woke up!~" Francis said happily, Matthew simply closed his eyes and lay up against his boyfriend, savoring the warmth and protection he'd never felt before.

"Seriously?! Dude, I'll be right there!" Alfred said over the line. Francis could hear a tired sounding Brit on the other end of the phone, asking what he was doing and telling him to get his ass back to bed.

"Alfred, it is two in the morning-…"

*click*

Francis looked down at his phone and sighed, he was pretty sure it wasn't even visiting hours. When they'd asked Francis to leave he just hissed at them and told them to fuck off. He looked down at the Canadian who was looking up at him questioningly as if saying, 'hug me?'.

The Frenchman smiled softly and wrapped his arms around him, one around his lower back and one resting on his shoulder blades and rubbing small circles on his back. Matthew sighed happily and leaned into Francis, becoming lost in his own world.

Two short weeks later Matthew was finally allowed to leave the hospital. Originally Matthew was going to go back home, but when they tried to pry him away from Francis, he started shaking and refusing. So long story short, Matthew was now sitting in the passenger's seat of the Frenchman's car, looking around lazily from window to window, not having been outside of the hospital in what seemed like forever. Francis had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road with such an adorable little Canadian sitting in the seat next to him. His hand had already roamed over to the Canadians, and now their fingers were interlaced loosely, each finger fit perfectly as if it were meant to be.

"Francis…" Matthew said quietly, his voice was even wispier than before, if it was possible. He was still struggling to re-gain his speech, some days were better than others. Sometimes his throat felt raw, and Matthew could practically taste the blood in his throat. Thankfully, usually his days were good.

"Yes, mon cher?" Francis asked, glancing over then having to force his eyes back on the road so he didn't crash. Matthew looked away, his hands messing with a string on his hoodie. He was silent for a minute as he looked out over the cliff they were driving near, he could see the ocean colliding with the shore, and the few people lazily walking along the pearly sand.

"Thank you… for helping me…" He whispered, looking back sheepishly, the smallest trace of a smile was hanging on his lips. His lips. Francis could just stare at them all day, they were beautiful and helped make Matthew, Matthew. The Frenchman looked at his adorable little Matthew, at his vivid lilac eyes that peered over his glasses. At his divine jaw line and kissable neck. He could stare at him; just a picture of him was enough to kill Francis.

"Of course…" Was all Francis could mumble, he was so mesmerized by him. This time it took all his man power to break his stare from Matthews, he gently squeezed the Canadian's hand. Matthew smiled over at him and squeezed back.

A few minutes later they arrived a Francis's house; Francis slowly halted the car and pocketed the keys, getting out and walking to the other side of the car, holding the door open for Matthew.

They walked in the house, Francis was pleased to find it was vacant, mainly the fact it was vacant of his father. Francis's father was by no means a bad man, he was a doctor, and he saved lives every day. But he was strict, and usually unfair, and he despised gay people. Yep, Francis hadn't told his father yet. All this time that he'd been at the hospital, his father thought he was staying at a friend's house and studying for his killer ACT's that were just around the corner.

Francis walked up the stairs, keeping Matthew's hand in his. They walked into Francis's room a minute later, the tired Canadian sat on the huge and fluffy duvet; Francis sat next to him and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy. Francis leaned forward, causing the Canadian to fall back onto the bed, Francis landing on top of him.

Matthew looked up and blushed, smiling sheepishly and hesitantly snaking his arms around Francis's neck. Francis chuckled, leaning down to finally close the space between them. Matthew let his eyes flutter shut as he melted into the kiss. _Our lips fit perfectly…_ they both thought at the exact time as Francis leaned down, tilting his head slightly so their noses didn't smash together. The Frenchman placed one hand on Matthew's hip, and the other ran through his hair. His legs were straddling Matthew's hips and held him above him so his weight would not crush the smaller boy. Francis felt Matthew's tongue brush across his lip gently, and for a moment he thought that he'd imagined it. Until he felt it again, slightly harder this time. Francis un-hesitantly opened his mouth and snaked his tongue through the Canadians lips, searching his mouth thoroughly and earning a small moan.

Matthew had to pull back, gasping slightly. He looked up at his boyfriend and giggled nervously. (( A/N: because boys giggling….. completely sexy XD))

"Hungry mon cher?" Francis cooed in a voice that would make a strait man go gay. The clock next to the bed read 8:00pm, and the sky was slowly morphing into a deep indigo color, and the little white stars began to shine. As if on cue, Matthew's stomach growled and he slowly nodded. "Let me cook for you?" Francis asked, earning another nod.

"I've been… eager to try your cooking." Matthew admitted, Francis chuckled and pecked his lips quickly before sitting up, sliding to his feet and offering a hand for him.

"Then let's not make you wait any longer." Francis said; ready to make a hell of a meal.

Francis prepared a divine meal, and Matthew truly had to lick his plate off it was so good. After that, Matthew silently asked if they could watch a movie, which Francis happily obliged to. He grabbed a blanket for them and led the Canadian into the living room, sitting him on the couch and handing him a book of CD's to choose from. Matthew decided on a movie called Avatar, Francis slipped it in the player and the movie began.

Francis sat next to Matthew and wrapped the blanket around the smaller boys shoulders. Halfway through Matthew yawned and lay down, resting his head in Francis's lap. Francis; who was not paying an ounce of attention to the movie, ran a hand through the boys hair, brushing locks of the blond hair out of his eyes. Matthew cuddled into Francis and looked up at him.

"Je t'aime Matthieu." Francis whispered, leaning down and gently kissing Matthew's forehead.

"Je t'aime aussi." He whispered back, falling asleep in the Frenchman's arms. His Frenchman. Matthew had never slept as well as he did that night.

Author's Note: Taa-daa!~ I was actually going to kill Mattie, butttt all you guies said no so oh well, I can save the character death for another day. Anyways thank you all so much for the comments and I hope you can comment on this chapter as well and just say what you thought of it.

THANKSIES FOR READING, PEACE OUT MAN!


End file.
